The Sheikh's Illicit Affair (8 page)

Zaakir took a long time to respond. “Yes, yes, of course,” he said finally, and walked slowly, almost hesitantly, past her, back to the opening in the wall.

ELEVEN

Zaakir led Megan around from the courtyard, up a set of stone steps, and through the front entrance of his palace. If she had thought the building somewhat simple on the outside, the inside more than made up for it. Every inch of it was beautifully decorated with ornate designs and sumptuous fabrics.

The first room they entered was a large sitting room. Megan walked on floors of ivory marble, shimmering golden veins running the length and width of the room. Thick rugs in brown-lined patterns sat on either side of the room, beneath two seating areas. Each area contained a collection of chairs and sofas, all adorned with delicate, colorful pillows. Several small, intricately-carved wooden tables held ceramic lamps. Large, round pots contained thick bushy plants, adding greens to the room, where the dominant colors were still tan, ivory, and gold, much like the outside world of Al-Sharrabi.

Even the walls themselves were something to behold. They were dressed in fine wallpapers, subtle textures shimmering in the light. Several rounded alcoves formed recesses in the wall, holding statues or vases under individual spotlights. Carved molding ran to the ceiling, pushing toward the sky until its highest level, which was decorated with a finely sculpted texture. In the center hung a pendulous chandelier, the largest Megan had ever seen, in shards of glowing crystal.

“What are these statues?” she asked, gesturing to one that looked like a curving cone, in bronze.

“I don’t know,” he said.

“Didn’t you pick them out?”

“I had very little to do with the look and decoration of anything here.”

“You must have very good designers, then.”

“I’m glad you like it.”

He next led her into a long dining room. This room had more color. The long rug that ran the length of it was a deep, rich brown, almost burgundy. The long table was a darker stained wood, its edge carved to match the intricate designs in the backs of the chairs. Thick curtains hung from several places in the wall. The curtains were all closed and Megan imagined they created some sort of private sitting area. In this room there was not just one chandelier, but three, the largest of which hung over the center of the table. This one looked less like the hanging shards of the chandelier in the first room and more like a giant sculpture of diamonds; as if someone had scooped up several handfuls and pressed them together to form a giant ball, then shaped it into a teardrop shape. She couldn’t help watching it glitter as she walked by. The walls, too, were carefully designed. Several half pillars of twisted gold separated the sections of the room, and finely painted murals stretched from floor to ceiling in four places.

“Zaakir, this place is just exquisite,” she said, as they walked into the next room.

He seemed a bit downcast, like he took no joy in being inside the palace. When they had been out in the courtyard, and before that on the jet, he had been energetic and joyful. What could be bothering him now? Megan was here, and she was enjoying his presence, but his dampened mood was bringing her down slightly. Had she done something to upset him? Or was it their almost kiss? If she’d not demanded a tour, would they still be in the courtyard, their lips tangled in another passionate dance?

He shrugged and waved his hand in the direction of another entryway. “That’s the ballroom,” he murmured, then started to walked away.

“Wait! I want to see it.”

He paused and turned to her. “I’m sorry, you’re right. I suppose that’s where the dancing primarily happens.”

“Yes!” Megan grabbed the Sheikh’s hand and yanked him into the room, hoping to instill some of her enjoyment into him.

This was the room that created the curved walls she’d seen outside the palace. It was a perfect circle of ornate marble. Here, the floors were more than just ivory and gold; in some places, it was the same ivory and gold of the sitting room, but the floor itself was a giant swirling pattern. Several other colors of marble moved together along the floor, in curves and bends. Golds, pinks, a hint of deep brown as an accent. There were more of the twisted half pillars Megan had seen in the dining room, again used as separators for sitting areas and to highlight the art on the walls. The ceiling was the only feature that could rival the floor. It rose in a gentle dome, squares of large and small frescoes rising to the center circle. The middle was all light, like a glowing ring of stars had been placed at its edges. Someone had painstaking painted a mural of giant star-shaped designs, the rays reaching out until they met the light at the edge of the circle. Megan stood in the center, turning slowly to take in every inch of it.

Zaakir stood nearer to the door, with a bored expression. Megan pulled her mouth into a half smile and stalked toward him, then past him—the beginning moves of their dance.

The Sheikh gave her a placating smile and took her into his arms when she passed again. But his passion was missing. He led her through only a few steps then set her gently on her feet and walked away.

“Of all the rooms in this place, you don’t want to spend time in the ballroom, dancing?” she asked, exasperated.

“That was the first time I’ve ever danced in there,” he said.

“What? You haven’t hosted events where there was dancing?”

“I have, but I’ve never danced. I always believed it was something too intimate to do with just anyone. To be so close and have two bodies touching like that. I always thought it more like a precursor to…” He glanced back at her and sighed. “Would you like to see my favorite room?”

“Yes, of course.”

She thought about what he had said. If he’d never wanted to dance with a stranger, why had he selected her to teach him? They hadn’t known each other prior to that. She agreed that the tango especially was rather like a precursor to more intimate things; that’s what made it such a good wedding dance.

“Zaakir?”

He stopped to turn to her.

“Why me?”

“I’m sorry?”

“How did you find me? Why did you choose me as a dance teacher? You said you didn’t want to dance with just anyone. We didn’t know each other before that first lesson, but you didn’t seem to mind being so close to me.”

“It’s simple,” he said flatly. “I’m a businessman. I was in need of a service. You are one of the best instructors in Manhattan and you were available. I found your looks acceptable, so I hired you to perform a service. Learning the dance was of primary importance, so I set aside my personal feelings on the matter to take care of the business at hand.”

“You make it sound so cold and matter-of-fact.”

“It is.” He gave her a frustrated look. “Megan, I must be this way to survive in business. I cannot let my feelings get in the way of what I set out to accomplish. Perhaps your parents did not follow the same standard, but remaining detached is the only thing that saved me from making poor decisions.”

She took a step back from him, shocked at his sudden change in tone. What had made him act this way so suddenly?

“Zaakir…”

“I’m sorry if you believed me to be otherwise.”

“I’ve just seen… Well, what I’ve seen of you up to now has not been cold or detached.”

“So you believe.” He stepped forward. “Come.”

Something wasn’t right here. She knew him to be only warm and charming, full of smiles, compliments and wit. She enjoyed their time together so much primarily because he was not the cold and calculating businessman her father often was. When Zaakir had talked of love and family, it had been with full heart. There was nothing contrived in it at all. Why was he trying to push her away now?

She didn’t appreciate his saying, “Come,” as if she were just another servant, there to obey him. Still, she followed, curious to see what he had called his favorite room. What was it that held his interest enough to be his favorite over all others?

One other thing was still bothering her.

“What did you mean that you found my ‘looks acceptable’?”

He didn’t look back or stop walking, his soft leather shoes tapping gently on the marble. “The photo on your website is a poor representation of real life. You are much more beautiful in person.”

“Oh.”

What had the other instructors looked like then? The ones he’d turned down.

“In fact,” he said. “Had I known you were so beautiful, I might have chosen someone else.”

“What? Why?”

“It is inappropriate for me to spend so much time with such a gorgeous woman—dancing, being alone, having drinks in private—while I am a betrothed man.”

“But—”

Megan’s mouth hung open. Hadn’t she been saying that from the start? Hadn’t that been the reason she refused to go with him for drinks? He’d been the one who insisted they were just friends. He’d brought her here, on an eleven-hour flight, under the pretense of friendship. Now he was the one saying it was inappropriate? Anger rose up in her, bringing heat to her cheeks. What was she doing here?

“Then why did you bring me here like this if it’s so inappropriate?” she demanded. “All the times I told you—”

“Here it is.” He broke into a smile, the first that seemed to be genuine since their moment in the courtyard. “The library.”

The smile was a momentary distraction from her anger and Megan turned her focus to the room that had made Zaakir so happy all of a sudden.

She entered a long room with floors of the same ivory and gold marble that ran through most of the palace. On either side of her, lining the walls, were shelves of books that stretched to the high ceiling. They were so high that several golden ladders had been placed on either side, so the top books could be reached. Several sitting areas, edged by long tables, were set at intervals down the length of the room. In one of the sitting areas there was a single lamp, somewhat out of place. It perched over an armchair covered in well-worn brown leather. A small table sat beside it, supporting a small stack of books. Of all the rooms in the palace, this one alone looked lived in.

Perhaps he saw her looking. “This is where I do my reading.” He gestured toward the chair.

“Why is nothing in here personal? Don’t you spend a lot of time here?”

“I do. But none of it matters to me.”

“Is that why there are no photos? Or are those in another room?”

“There is a family portrait in the bedroom—each of us received one as a gift when I came of age. It is the only portrait, however. A designer selected the rest of the art.”

“Why?” Megan walked toward his armchair, letting her fingertips drift over the books’ spines as she passed them.

“My business is my focus. I have no time for personal relationships or friendships. I avoid those who are not beneficial or profitable for business, and I spend my time in large, hollow rooms with men just as ruthless as I am, tearing things apart and building new things, all in the name of money. This is my life, Megan. You should feel blessed that you know nothing of it.”

“The man I’ve gotten to know these last few weeks has been capable of far more than merely making business decisions. We talked of love and happiness and how money gives none of it—”

“Yes,” he said, interrupting her. “Yet you see, I have nothing but money. You have your studio, and your dreams, but I have no time for love or any other sort of happiness.”

She shook her head and laughed. “That’s not you. Stop this. Why are you saying these things?”

“Megan.” He turned to face her full on. His hand twitched, like he was going to take hers, then decided not to. “I’ve done horrible things in the name of business. I have lied, cheated, and deceived others to get what I want. If you knew all I had done, you wouldn’t even want to stand in the same room with me. I’ve fooled you into thinking I’m a good man. I’ve tried to change. I want to become the man you believe me to be—the man capable of love. Yet, this is one endeavor in which money cannot help me, and I’m finding I have failed again and again. I have not lived in a way worthy of the love I speak of.”